


Petrol Blue

by OneHandedBooks



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Always the D/s undertones with these two, Dom/sub Undertones, F/F, Lingerie Kink, Pre-Slash, Will Graham Has Encephalitis, but does she like me like me?, extraordinarily extra lingerie, fem!Hannibal, fem!will, just a real overuse of lingerie related adjectives here, lesbian obliviousness, let's get you out of those wet clothes cliche, lingerie that I would personally own if it did not cost one billion dolllars, season 1 AU, smitten kitten lesbian!Hannibal, sweet grumpy lesbian!Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-22 19:16:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18533800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneHandedBooks/pseuds/OneHandedBooks
Summary: Fem!Will, feverish and confused, shows up a day early for dinner with Fem!Hannibal. Hanni offers her a little self-indulgent hospitality.Inspired by rodabonor's art and Twitter convos about fem!Hannigram hcs.Moodboard: https://radioxsilence.tumblr.com/post/184819291309/petrol-blue-moodboard





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rodabonor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rodabonor/gifts).



Hannibelle was startled from her reading by the sound of the doorbell and even more startled to find Will standing on her doorstep in the pouring rain. She was drenched and quivering, curly hair plastered to her pale forehead. Nose and cheeks pink with the cold.

“Will!” Hannibelle exclaimed, throwing the door open and ushering her inside. “How delightfully unexpected.”

She subtly maneuvered Will around in the foyer until she was dripping safely onto the thick woven mat next to the coat tree.

Hannibelle pulled her paisley robe closer around her shoulders to stave off the spring chill Will had brought with her and closed the heavy front door. 

“What brings you out in such terrible weather? And so late. Has there been a break in the case?”

Will blinked up at Hannibelle, confused. She'd never seen her dressed so informally. Were those pajamas? Will shook her head as though to clear it.

“I… I don’t know how I got here.”

Hannibelle looked over Will’s shoulder out the front window. “Well, your car’s parked in the driveway, so we know you drove.”

Will shook her head, frowning. “No. I was home and then… Wait. Dinner. You invited me to dinner. I’m here for dinner...” She trailed off and looked around the house. It was dim and quiet. Warm amber light spilled into the dark hall from the nearby study.

Hannibelle frowned slightly as well. “Dinner is at 8 o’clock, Will. Tomorrow night.”

“What time is it?”

“Nearly nine o’clock.”

Will groaned and rubbed a hand over her face, under her glasses. “So I’m early _and_ late. I’m sorry. I’ve been feeling a little off lately. Not sleeping well. I must have… gotten confused.”

“Never apologize for coming to me, Will. My house is always open to friends.”

Hannibelle stepped closer and pressed her hand to Will’s forehead. Her skin was warm to the touch and there was a faint new scent about her as well. A tipsy sort of sweetness. Like cherries soaked in brandywine. 

Will sighed and shivered and pressed closer into Hannibelle’s warm strong hand before she caught herself and stepped away.

“Maybe I am coming down with something. I hope I’m not contagious,” she said, offering a wan smile.

Hannibelle made a noncommittal noise. “You do feel a little warm to me. Maybe a slight fever? You’re soaked to the bone in any case. You need to get dry before you do get sick, if you aren’t already. Let me take your coat. Then, perhaps, a hot toddy?”

Will nodded gratefully and turned to let Hannibelle work the sodden canvas jacket off her arms. As she was leaning past to hang the jacket on the coat tree, Will heard Hannibelle inhale and saw her nose wrinkle slightly in her periphery. Did she just _smell_ me? Will breathed deeply in the vicinity of her own shirtsleeve then grimaced. God, difficult to avoid I guess.

“I must smell like wet dog,” Will said, chagrined.

Hannibelle didn’t disagree, only smiled slightly, eyes as fond as ever. She swept a stray curl off Will’s damp face and tucked it behind her ear. Will felt warmed to her toes.

“Why don’t you leave your wet shoes here with your jacket and let me put the rest of your clothes in the dryer? You could have a hot drink and a hot bath while you’re waiting. I could make dinner afterwards, of course, if you’re hungry.” “You may be a day early,” she teased, “but I’m sure I can find something to make a little late supper out of in the kitchen.”

“A hot bath?”

“And a hot drink,” Hannibelle agreed briskly. “Warmth inside and out. I find it’s the best way to stave off a chill.”

Will raised an eyebrow at Hannibelle, but she just waited for an answer with that ever-present air of impenetrable calm she had. As though she were perfectly comfortable with herself at all times and nothing she said or did was, or ever could be, strange. Will envied her.

“Ok,” she said finally, bending to unlace her wet boots.

* * *

Hannibelle returned from the kitchen with a double hot toddy for Will and ushered her upstairs. As they walked down the long hallway towards the guest bathroom, Hannibelle held forth so grandly on the history and health benefits of ancient Roman baths that Will hardly had any opportunity to second-guess what she’d agreed to.

“…which is why the floor of the women’s _tepidarium_ was suspended,” Hannibelle finished as they reached the door at the end of the hall. She swept it open and gestured Will graciously into the white tiled room. “Here we are. It’s no _thermae_ , but I think it should serve our purposes.”

Will looked around at the glass enclosed shower and the sleekly sculpted ceramic sink. The freestanding porcelain tub with one end curved up for lounging, its steel clawed feet and its own little side table. If this was the _guest_ bathroom, what did Hannibelle’s own bathroom look like?

Hannibelle watched Will’s reaction with pleasure, then turned to open the tall narrow cabinet in the corner. She ran her fingers over an assortment of bottles and jars. “Soap, face wash, shampoo, conditioner.”

She stopped, frowning, and turned one of the glass bottles outwards so its label was lined up properly alongside the others. “Body wash. Bath oil for the water. Moisturizing oil for after.” She looked over her shoulder at Will. “I prefer the rose oil personally, but there’s lavender and almond if you’d rather.”

Will drained the rest of the hot toddy without thinking and nodded automatically, overwhelmed by the warmth and the whiskey and the words. By the entire army of bath products standing elbow to elbow in the cabinet. It was like a miniature Bath & Body Works in there. Did Hannibelle use all this stuff? All at once?

Hannibelle reached into the back of the cabinet and held up what looked like an ivory puffball. “Bath puff?”

She set it on the dark stone counter by the sink without waiting for an answer, then took two of the lavender rolled towels from the basket on the counter and draped them over the stainless steel warmer on the wall.

Will examined Hannibelle out of the corner of her eye, taking in the white collared pajamas with the piping and the pearl buttons under the paisley robe. The pristine little black and white slippers and expertly polished fingernails. Hair and make up still perfect at, Will glanced surreptitiously at her battered watch, nine o’clock. Yeah, she probably did use all that stuff.

“If you’re done with that,” Hannibelle started, yanking Will’s attention back.

“What?”

Hannibelle gestured at the mug Will was holding. “I said if you’re done with that, I can take it downstairs then come back for your clothes.”

Will looked down at the mug, surprised to find it was already empty. “Oh. Yes, ok.”

Hannibelle gave her a look of faint concern and touched the back of her hand to Will’s forehead, then cupped her flushed cheek for a moment. Will eyes fluttered closed at the friendly, compassionate contact.

“How do you feel, Will?”

Will blinked slowly as she considered that. “Better?” she guessed.

Hannibelle tugged the mug gently from Will’s fingers, the corners of her eyes crinkling in amusement. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“I’ll put a basket outside the door for your clothes. If you’ll put them in there when you’re ready, I’ll take them down to the dryer.”

Hannibelle turned to go and Will touched her arm, her eyes meeting Hannibelle’s briefly then sliding away. “I… Thank you. Really. This is… Well, you didn’t have to...”

Hannibelle squeezed her shoulder. “I’m your friend, Will.” A brief pause. “And I’m glad you’re here.”

She stepped out into the hall and pulled the bathroom door shut behind her.

Will looked at the closed door for a long minute, listening to the soft sound of Hannibelle’s retreating footsteps and thinking about the wet footprints she must have left on the spotless wood floors and the elaborate runner in the hallway. Hannibelle seemed so fastidious and yet so unflappable. She’d been surprised, but unfazed, by Will’s sudden, sodden appearance on her doorstep, and not the least put off. Not as far as Will could tell. Hannibelle was simply outside of her experience entirely.

Will unbuttoned her wet plaid shirt and let it fall, then stripped out of the soggy canvas trousers. She peeled off the damp navy tank top and the navy sports bra and dropped them as well. She braced against the cool tile wall to wriggle her way out of the unpleasantly moist socks, then flexed her bare feet happily against the heated tile floor. She considered her boxer briefs for a moment, slipped them off and crammed them deep into one of the trouser pockets. She bundled the trousers into the middle of the pile and dumped it all into the basket in the hall, hoping Hannibelle would just toss the whole lot into the dryer at once.


	2. Chapter 2

Shining steel faucets rose from the floor and arched over the far end of the tub. Will knelt beside it on the outrageously plush bathmat to set the drain plug then cranked the faucets wide open. Steaming water cascaded into the cold porcelain basin and began to fill it up.

Will surveyed the corner cabinet while the water ran. No combo shampoo/conditioner apparently.  She opened the various bottles, sniffing until she found a relatively unscented pair, which she set aside on the counter next to the puff. No bar soap that Will could see and bath puff meant body wash. There was an oatmeal and shea one that was fairly close to the soap she used at home, so Will picked that. She considered the ‘after the bath oil’ and the ‘during the bath oil' and decided against them both.

Still, Hannibelle always smelled so nice. And _she_ currently smelled like mud and wet cloth and seven soaked dogs. And it was apparently bad enough that Hannibelle had noticed it. Will grabbed the rose bath oil as well.

She set the toiletries on the tub’s side table and put her fogged reading glasses next to them. She regarded the rose oil skeptically, but dripped some of it into the shimmering bath water anyway and stirred it around with her foot. The fragrant oil bloomed immediately, filling the room with sweet steam. Will put the bottle back on the table and slipped into the deliciously hot bath.

Her sore muscles relaxed as soon as she hit the water. She groaned aloud as it engulfed her, sagging back against the tub’s curved end and sliding down until the water covered her chin. She stretched her foot out and shut the faucet off with the tips of her toes. Then she floated.

Her vision swam and she felt light and buoyant. Temporarily relieved of every care. Of night terrors and sleepwalking. Of Jack’s desperate, lonely killers that filled her with their dread, battening onto her mind like hungry ghosts.

She swished her hair back and forth in the water just to feel the silky heat wash through it, then reached blindly up onto the cool marble side table and snagged the shampoo.

The gel was faintly green and had a fresh clean smell, a little like cut grass and herbs. Will worked it into her wet curls until she had a thick white lather, then bent backwards to rinse it clean. She read the back of the matching conditioner in case it came with special instructions, then rubbed a tiny amount of the thick cream into the ends of her hair, as directed.

She dunked the ivory bath puff in the water, squirted what seemed like a decent amount of body wash into it, and squashed it in her hands until was lusciously foamy. She knelt up in the tub to wash, humming with pleasure at the rough swipe of the ruffled sponge over her skin. Shivering as the puff passed over her peaked nipples, drawn tight in the cooler air. She scrubbed through the thick hair under her arms and between her legs, then paused and let the bath puff fall, sinking down disconsolately after it.

Hannibelle was probably groomed within an inch of her life. She definitely shaved. She probably had a personal waxer.

Will leaned back against the tub's curved end and lifted one lean leg up onto on its broad ceramic edge, giving her fuzzy shin a critical look. She ran a work-roughened palm up and down, ruffling the soft hair.

She briefly considered the image of Hannibelle with her long regal legs in the air as a snotty salon girl snapped her gum and ripped strips of cotton from her bikini line. She snorted with laughter, nearly inhaling the scented bathwater. Maybe not a waxer then.

Will closed her eyes and breathed deeply. The room smelled like Hannibelle now. All flowers and herbs. She slipped her leg back into the tub and rocked her body back and forth to make the water swirl. She ran her hands down over her breasts, and belly, and thighs, glorying in the feel of the hot water eddying around her body. The bath had soothed her headache and eased the feverish tension in her body and she felt sensitive and woozy. She thought about Hannibelle seeing her. Like this. Touching her.

That’s where this was going, right? Probably not tonight, but eventually? Hannibelle seemed interested. She hadn’t done anything _overt_ really, but she’d once told Will she had a beautiful mind. And she’d invited her to dinner. And cared that she seemed sick, and offered her this bath, and touched her face...

Will drained the tub half way and filled it again, just for the pleasure of it. The novelty. At her own house, the hot water only lasted as long as the antique boiler felt like making it, but here it never seemed to run out. Will could stay in the bath forever. Or, rather, she really couldn’t. Which meant she’d have to actually force herself to get out at some point. 

She lay back and drifted, body liquid, then closed her eyes and held her breath and slipped all the way under. The hot water closed over her, comforting and heavy. She slid a hand along her silky inner thigh and thought again about Hannibelle putting a hand to her forehead, brushing her damp hair back, cupping her cheek.

A sharp short knock sounded on the door and Will shot up out of the water, sputtering, guilty hands flying to the tub’s edges. Water sloshed up the sides.

“Will?” Hannibelle called.

“Yeah! I’m coming.”

“Oh, no, Will. Please take your time. I just wanted to remind you that there’s a robe for you in the back of the cabinet whenever you’re ready for it.”

“Thank you!” Will called after Hannibelle’s disappearing steps.

She sighed heavily and yanked the drain plug out with her toes, pressing the rough sole of her foot over the drain as the water rushed out, just to feel the tickling suck of the whirlpool. Then she made herself get out, determined not to impose any further on Hannibelle’s hospitality.

She quickly wrapped one of the lavender towels around her and tucked the ends in, then wound the other around her hair. They were so soft and fluffy. All warm and cozy from the towel bar. She pressed her cheek against the edge of the towel around her hair and dug her toes into the plush bathmat, warmed by the heated floor. It was so soothing. So comfortable. Will wanted to lie down on the floor, just like this, wrapped in Hannibelle’s lush towels, and go to sleep in the scented steam.

Instead, she squeezed the water from her hair, rubbing it vigorously until it was mostly dry, then folded the towel over the edge of the tub. She pulled a thick white cotton bathrobe from the back of the cabinet and threw it on. Will snorted as it enveloped her, but gamely rolled the sleeves up and opened the bathroom door into hall.


	3. Chapter 3

It was dark and quiet. Will stepped out of the steamy bathroom, braced for cold, and frowned slightly. It was almost too hot with the robe on. Was it warmer in the house than it had been earlier or was her fever worse?

“Hannibelle?”

Heavy silence, then, “I’m down here, Will. In the dressing room.”

Will followed the sound of Hannibelle’s voice down the hall and around the corner into a short corridor. Warm light flowed out around a partially open door.

Will pushed it open and stopped, blinking rapidly. The dressing room was nearly the size of her entire living room. Airy carved archways proceeded down the walls like fragile little flying buttresses, offering little hooks and trays for jewelry. There was an ornate vanity at one end, with a wide table and a triple mirror, parts of the framed oval glass splotched black with age. At least ten closets lined the walls, half the doors inset with their own arched mirrors. There were shelves, and drawers, and counters. Cubbies for shoes. So many shoes. Will’s astonished gaze caught on a pair of impossibly high heels, viscous black with sleek red bottoms. Hannibelle would be well over six feet tall in those.

Hannibelle ducked out from behind an open closet door, smiling smugly in anticipation. Will’s appearance forecast by her cautious footsteps and her scent- her own clean spice mixed now with Hannibelle’s shampoo and conditioner, her signature rose oil.

“How was your bath, Will?” she asked.

Will swallowed hard. Hannibelle’s long shiny hair was down, cascading over her shoulders, and her feet were bare. Her pale toes and polished red nails stark against the dressing room’s dark patterned rug. It made her seem naked somehow, vulnerable, though she was still completely covered by the pajamas and the robe.

“Yeah. Good,” Will answered faintly.  “Thank you.”

“And how do you feel?”

Will hesitated, interrogating herself. “Good?"

She rubbed one foot nervously against the other. What was she thinking, imagining Hannibelle had been trying to seduce her with offers of dinner, and the drink, and the bath? She was Hannibelle’s broken, disoriented patient. Patient? Friend. And Hannibelle was only was trying to help. What could they possibly have in common? Look at this house. These clothes. Hannibelle herself, cool and beautiful.

Will shouldn’t be here and Hannibelle definitely shouldn’t be looking at her like that. Like she was drowning on dry land, like she was starving and Will was her last meal. Will swallowed again, throat clicking dry.

Hannibelle looked Will over, smiling at the robe’s rolled sleeves. “I’ve been looking for something you can borrow, but I confess I’m not sure now that I have anything that will fit you, Will.”

“That’s ok,” Will said, nodding at the stack of folded clothes on the low counter at Hannibelle’s hip. “It looks like my clothes are dry now anyway.”

“They are,” Hannibelle said. She lounged against the closet door and patted the pile of clothes with a manicured hand, but made no move to give them back. “It seems a shame to put all this coarse cloth back on now though. Don’t you think?”

Will ran her tongue briefly along her lower lip. “What did you have in mind?”

“Nothing nefarious, I assure you.”

Will gave Hannibelle a level look.

Hannibelle paused a moment and then picked up a slick ivory box from the counter next to Will’s old clothes. It was wrapped in a matching satin ribbon, **La Perla** emblazoned in gold block script across the box.

Will’s brow wrinkled suspiciously, hands shoved deep in the robe’s deep pockets. “What is it?”

“Pajamas,” Hannibelle answered simply.

“Pajamas,” Will repeated.

“Nothing terribly different than what you’d usually wear.”

Will’s frown deepened and Hannibelle answered it.

“Protein scramble?” She smiled. “Our first adventure together?”

Will let out a deep breath and chuckled. “Oh right. A fragile little teacup. I forgot I answered the door in my underwear.  I’m not sure that’s the memory you want to invoke, Doctor. I wasn’t all that happy to see you, if you recall.”

“Yes, I recall,” Hannibelle responded drily. “Nevertheless, I think we’ve moved on auspiciously from there, don’t you?”

Will didn’t disagree. They’d been a good pair so far. Professionally. And could be more. Might be more.

Together, Will and Hannibelle thought about weeks of conversation and the intimacy of shared thought. Wondered if that might count for something now.

“I was going to wait to give it to you at a more appropriate time,” Hannibelle offered. “At least several dinners from now. But, I’m afraid I’m finding it unexpectedly difficult to wait. And as you arguably have need of it now…”

“Sounds ominous.”

Hannibelle sighed in faint, fond irritation and confessed in full. “I thought we might have dinner,Will. Several dinners. Drinks afterwards by the fire. And then, somewhere along the way, you might stay. And if you stayed, you might need something to wear in the morning.”

“Presumptuous,” Will teased, heartbeat speeding up.

“Hopeful,” Hannibelle countered. She untied the satin ribbon and lifted the lid, holding the open box out to Will.

Inside, there were layers of pale folded tissue. Will parted the paper gingerly, revealing something light and filmy. A wispy cloud of deep cobalt all gathered up with glimpses of silvery-blue embroidery and thin ribbon.

Will sighed in admiration and reached for it, then stopped short, curling her calloused fingertips into her calloused palms. Afraid of snagging the ethereal fabric. She glanced at Hannibelle and then away, hands closed tight. Even soaking in the bath hadn’t softened them overmuch.

Hannibelle couldn’t stop herself from making the very smallest delighted sound, from drinking in Will’s shamed flush, just a little, her desire and her reticence, before taking pity on her.

“Allow me?” she proposed.

Will nodded, short dark curls brushing her blushing cheek.

Hannibelle reached into the box and pulled out an airy chemise in the darkest blue, edged along the top with blued-steel embroidery on a sheer blue background. The thin ribbon straps seemed so dainty and so fragile that Will imagined they’d snap if she tugged even a little too hard putting the thing on.

Will thought about the deep scar on her shoulder where she’d been stabbed as a cop, about her hairy legs, the wild dark curls between them and under her arms, and shook her head.

“I…I’m not sure that’s going to look right…” She took a breath and tried to remember what the polite response would be. “I mean. Thank you very much,” she forced out. “It’s just…”

“Do you like it, Will?” Hannibelle interrupted mildly.

“It’s beautiful,” Will admitted, after a moment.

“And I think it will look beautiful on you. I thought of you the moment I saw it. How it would look with your hair, your eyes. Will you try it? For me?”

Will paused, taking her lower lip in her teeth. The night had taken on the quality of a dream, eased by the hot honeyed whiskey and the hot bath. It seemed as though any strange thing might happen. She nodded.

“Yes,” Hannibelle agreed, nodding along with her. “Thank you, Will.”

She set the box back down on the counter and came a little closer, bare feet whispering on the soft rug. She put her hands on either side of Will’s robe.

“May I?”

Will dipped her chin once in acquiescence and Hannibelle slipped the thick cotton robe off her shoulders and draped it across a nearby bench. She held the silky slip up and open.

“Arms up, please.”

Will lifted her arms and Hannibelle pulled the silk chemise on over her head and let it fall. It drifted down around her like evening mist, the hem falling just above the swell of her backside and well above the edge of the towel underneath.

Will started to lower her arms, rough hands held out awkwardly to avoid snaring the slip, but Hannibelle stopped her. She skated her fingers along the tender underside of Will’s strong pale arms, keeping them lifted lightly like swan’s wings.

“Why don’t you stay just like that? I think that would be safer for the fabric, don’t you? Just for now.”

Will took a sharp little breath and froze, leaving her arms where Hannibelle had put them. Restrained by nothing but her mild suggestion.

“Do you think we can take this towel off now?”

Will nodded distantly, lost in the surprisingly comforting feeling of this enforced stillness.

Hannibelle worked her fingers under the fold where the towel wrapped securely across Will’s chest and tugged it open, letting it fall out from underneath the slip and puddle at Will’s feet.

Will’s eyes slipped closed as the terrycloth dragged down her body and was replaced by the cool sweep of silk across  warm bare skin. She quivered, body blushing, nipples pulling tight and responsive against the slip.

Hannibelle averted her eyes politely and stepped behind Will to adjust the tiny buckles on the shoulder straps. She tightened the thin ribbons until they lay snugly against the  muscular curve of Will’s shoulder. The silk fabric sliding through the cold metal made a subtle rasping, dragging sound that Will felt more than heard. It raised the hair on the back of her neck and goosebumps all along her arms.

“The body of the chemise is silk georgette,” Hannibelle murmured, her lips nearly brushing the delicate shell of Will’s ear. “Edged with silk tulle and hand finished with a double-frastaglio technique.”

She drew her fingertips through the air over the rich floral embroidery that followed the deep plunge of the chemise’s neckline, never touching. The embroidered flowers spilled over the edges of the slip as though they couldn’t be contained, caressing sternum and clavicle and twining down to curve around Will’s breasts.

“This. Right here. It’s an ancient Florentine technique of applying embroidery by hand. The process reproduces the effect of flowers framing the body.”

Will swayed, arms dropping towards her sides, suddenly dizzy with the feeling of Hannibelle so close behind her. Touched by nothing but Hannibelle’s breath, the flutter of her clothes and the heat of her body.

“Steady now,” Hannibelle whispered. She put a hand briefly but firmly on the small of Will’s back to support her. Then she stretched her arms out alongside Will’s and curved her fingers into Will’s cupped palms to direct her arms slightly upwards again, encouraging her to lift and straighten them a bit more.

“Does it hurt?”

Will shook her head. “Aches.”

“Can you stay like that just a little while longer?”

Will made a soft pleading noise behind her teeth, wrestling with what she wanted to say, to hear.

“For you?” she asked finally, voice raspy, barely audible.

Hannibelle sighed with delight. “Yes, Will. For me.”

Will’s face flushed and she took a deep grounding breath. “Ok,” she agreed. “Yes.”

Hannibelle squeezed Will’s shoulders to ease some of the ache, both praise and reward, then turned back to the lingerie box.

“Now these, I think,” she said, pulling out the matching silk georgette underwear.

Will had suspected there was more in the box, but she’d imagined some fearsomely uncomfortable lace thong contraption, something fussy and impractical. What Hannibelle was actually holding up was more like shorts. Very short shorts. Fluttery buttery silk shorts with narrow tulle and embroidery side panels to match the top.

Hannibelle knelt at Will’s feet, still pink and warm from the bath, and held the underwear out for her to put on. Will gazed down at her, breath caught in her throat. She wanted desperately to run her fingers through Hannibelle’s silvered hair, to see if it felt as sleek as it looked.

“Step in,” Hannibelle directed, a smirk in her voice as though she knew what Will was thinking.

Will put one foot in and then the other. She held her breath as Hannibelle started drawing the shorts slowly up her legs, soft silk sliding against her sensitive skin.

“Beautiful," Hannibelle sighed softly as she rose, voice almost too low to hear.

Her breath ghosted over Will’s thighs, stirring the soft hair there, and Will shivered and pressed her legs tight together against the thrill of it.

Hannibelle straightened up to her full height, pulling the silk shorts with her. The fabric caught and bunched against the press of Will’s thighs. Hannibelle tugged them up a little harder and Will gasped, suddenly suffused with heat.

“Spread your legs a bit, Will. So we can get these all the way on.”

Will shuffled her feet slightly wider, face flushing. That Hannibelle had told her to. That she’d _had_ to tell her. Will could feel the blood rushing up her cheeks to the tips of her ears and prickling all the way down her chest.

Hannibelle’s fingertips curved over the waistband of the underwear and her short polished nails brushed along Will’s hips and over the curve of Will’s waist as she pulled the shorts the rest of the way up and finally set them in place.

Hannibelle allowed herself the briefest inhale against the nape of Will’s neck, taking in the sweet heated rush of abashed arousal, and then her hands were gone and she was moving away, rummaging through one of the closets for something.

Will shivered, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Her hands flexed against the impulse to let her arms drop, to run her hands over her body beneath the slip. But…well. Hannibelle hadn’t said she could move. Had definitely suggested she not move, in fact.

She turned to look at herself in one of the tall arched mirrors. Her hands were held out from her sides, fingertips tipped up like primary feathers, just enough to keep her calloused skin away from the fragile fabric. She thought she’d look ridiculous, but instead she looked sort of… graceful.

The dark blue chemise passed over her shoulders and concealed the worst of the scar on the right. The thin silvery edges that remained gleamed like embellishment in the room’s gold light. The slip wasn’t exactly sheer, but she could still see the shaded shape of her body beneath it. She glanced away in embarrassment at the obvious outline of her nipples against the fabric, then turned slightly to look behind her in the mirror.

The back was a blade, plunging down to match the neckline in the front. Embroidered flowers flowed around and under her shoulder blades and down the line of her spine, meeting in a point just above the small of her back. And oh. The shorts were _really_ short. The fluttery hem arched up on either side, cut to expose the bottom curve of each cheek, the hem of the slip too high to cover them.

Will ducked her head against her shoulder, embarrassed all over again. The slip concealed everything and nothing. She couldn’t cross her arms or drop them and she couldn’t decide whether to face Hannibelle or not, which part of her body to expose.

Hannibelle decided for her.

“Just one more thing,” she said calmly, returning with a light grey shopping bag frothed with yet more tissue paper.

Will turned away from the mirror, breathing fast and light. Hannibelle’s “one more thing,” turned out to be a featherlight cashmere wrap sweater, also in midnight blue. It looked like something a ballerina might wear. Which made it something Will definitely wouldn’t wear.

Nevertheless, Hannibelle took Will’s hands in hers and carefully and deliberately folded Will’s chapped fingers together over her palms. She drew the relaxed sleeves of the sweater up Will’s bare arms and over her shoulders, then nodded for Will to relax her hands. She draped the front panels over Will’s chest, wrapped the ends around her narrow waist, and tied them off in the front. She looked at it, head cocked to the side, then adjusted the deep vee in the middle so that the sweater curved open over the swell of Will’s breasts, giving her back a little modesty, but still framing the embroidered top of the chemise. 

Hannibelle sighed dramatically and clasped her hands in front of her chest. “Perfect. You can let your arms down, Will.”

Will lowered her arms slowly and rolled her shoulders. They ached deeply from holding her arms out, but it didn’t feel entirely unpleasant. Rather, she found herself unexpectedly disappointed to be freed from the command to stillness. She reached up to rub the faint pain from her scarred right shoulder, but Hannibal beat her to it.

“My fault, I’m afraid,” Hannibelle said generously. She cupped both of Will’s strong shoulders in her broad hands. “Let me.” She worked her thumbs and fingertips into the muscles to relax them again.

Will melted as Hannibelle massaged her shoulders, tension draining away. Then Hannibelle ran her hands down Will’s arms to take Will’s hands in her own. She swept her fingertips over the deep calluses crossing Will’s palms where she held her fishing rod, her tools, her gun.

“Would you like to touch your new clothes, Will?”

Will nodded, reeling.

“But you’re worried about damaging them.”

It wasn’t a question, but Will nodded anyway. So overwhelmed she didn’t feel capable of speech.

“Will you let me help you with that?”

“Yeah,” Will whispered.

Hannibelle let her go and opened one of the seemingly infinite little drawers in the dressing room wall. She took out a silver tin with a label reading _Nighttime Cell Restorative: Organic Emollient_.

When Will understood what Hannibelle had in mind, she started to object, hands clenching tight at her sides in a flare of anger. Her hands might be rough, ok, but she had good reason. She needed those callouses. She’d _earned_ them.

Hannibelle shook her head at the spasm of irritation on Will’s face. “I’d never take your hard-won defenses away, Will,” she reassured her. “Only soften them enough to serve you well without interfering with the things you want.”

“Give me your hands,” she insisted.

Will held them out a bit reluctantly and Hannibelle smoothed a dollop of thick emollient onto one hand and then the other. Will jerked and shuddered as Hannibelle’s strong slim fingers slid along the backs of her fingers and forced them apart, gliding along the tender hidden skin between them. She turned Will’s hands up and massaged the slippery lotion into her palms, rubbing it into the calluses with her thumbs again and again until there were no uncouth edges that might catch on the  fine-spun cashmere or the sleek surface of the chemise. The cream absorbed quickly and then Hannibelle released her.

“There. See if that works.”

Will rubbed her hands together halfheartedly to test the feel of her newly smoothed skin, strangely disappointed to be freed from Hannibelle’s instruction.

Hannibelle studied Will's face for a moment, then turned her gently but firmly towards the mirror and stepped behind her again. She tucked her chin over Will’s shoulder and took her hands. Will watched in the mirror as Hannibelle guided her own hands down over her own body, pressing hard against the front of the soft sweater and the elegant chemise beneath and back up. There were no snags, or pulls, only the plush cashmere fiber whispering against her skin, the slick slide of silk and the weight of her breasts in her palms.

“Good?”

“Yes,” Will said softly.

Hannibelle slowly brought Will’s wrists together in front of her, then wrapped one hand tightly around them to hold her steady.

“Better?” Hannibelle purred.

Will hesitated, dizzy with fever and desire. “Yes.”

She longed to surrender just a little bit more. To lean back against Hannibelle’s strong body and let Hannibelle hold her up.

Hannibelle sighed, watching Will swoon towards her in the mirror. Eyes fluttering closed, hands clasped demurely, wrists held safely in Hannibelle’s hand.

“That’s right,” she murmured, tugging Will back just a little, just enough to brace against her. “I have you.”

She tipped Will’s chin up gently with her free hand, making her watch them in the glass.

“Pretty girl. Don’t you look lovely.”


End file.
